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But the village always had transient
inhabitants--friendly Utes and Navajos in to trade, and sheep-herders with a
scraggy, woolly flock, and travelers of the strange religious sect identified
with Utah going on into the wilderness. Then there were always riders passing
to and fro, and sometimes unknown ones regarded with caution. Horse-thieves
sometimes boldly rode in, and sometimes were able to sell or trade. In the
matter of horse-dealing Bostil's Ford was as bold as the thieves.
Old Brackton, a man of varied Western experience, kept the one store, which
was tavern, trading-post, freighter's headquarters, blacksmith's shop, and any
thing else needful. Brackton employed riders, teamsters, sometimes Indians, to
freight supplies in once a month from Durango. And that was over two hundred
miles away. Sometimes the supplies did not arrive on time--occasionally not at
all. News from the outside world, except that elicited from the taciturn
travelers marching into Utah, drifted in at intervals. But it was not missed.


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